


Even Money

by Brumeier



Series: Alternate Earths 'verse [9]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Community: hc_bingo, Community: trope_bingo, Denial of Feelings, Disabled Character, Established Relationship, Extortion, Humor, M/M, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-27 07:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12076683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: John only has a few hours to come up with the money he owes a loan shark or Rodney's going to pay the price. He has to call in some markers of his own, all the while dealing with a panicked not-quite-boyfriend and a minion who seems like he wants to moonlight as a therapist.





	Even Money

**Author's Note:**

> This fills the extortion/blackmail square on my Trope Bingo card and also the deadline/time bomb square on my Hurt/Comfort Bingo card.

“I barely even know him!” Rodney protested.

“That’s not what my people tell me,” Oscar replied. He sat behind his desk looking every inch the pop culture version of a gangster.

John certainly wasn’t about to argue with the man. The room was full of heavily-armed, heavily-muscled goons, and whatever Oscar said was gospel as far as they were concerned. 

“Well, your people are wrong!”

“Rodney,” John hissed. “Shut up.”

“Fifteen thousand dollars, Sheppard. I’ve been patient, but I want my money. Tonight.”

John mentally ran the numbers. He had maybe five grand he could immediately lay his hands on. For the rest he’d have to call in some markers of his own and hope like hell he could make up the difference.

“Tonight might not be doable, Oscar.”

“I’ll make this easy for you, Sheppard. Either I have my money by sunrise, or Mr. McKay –”

“Doctor,” Rodney interjected.

“Or Dr. McKay pays with a pound of flesh.” Oscar leaned back in his chair, fingers laced over his stomach. “No more extensions. No more favors.”

Rodney paled, and John felt sick to his stomach. Getting Rodney involved had been the last thing he wanted. The whole situation had gotten out of hand and John wasn’t sure he had the ability to fix things. Not this time.

“Oh, no. Oh, god.” Rodney started to hyperventilate. “Why is this happening?”

John put an arm around him. “Hey, it’s okay. Breathe.”

Rodney bent over, chest heaving, and held out his hand. “Bag. Need bag.”

Oscar snapped his fingers and one of his minions reached into the mini fridge in the corner and pulled out someone’s bagged lunch. He dumped it out on the desk and handed it to John, who in turn thrust it in Rodney’s hand.

Rodney clapped the bag to his face and started breathing into it. “Ugh. What the hell was in here? Month-old liverwurst?”

“Just breathe, Rodney,” John said.

“He’s going to be easy to hurt.” Oscar leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “I almost hope you fail.

“Leave McKay out of it,” John said. He sounded more confident than he felt. “You want a pound of flesh, I have plenty.”

“Very heroic.” Oscar smiled with his face but not his eyes. “But I think this arrangement will be more motivating for you, don’t you agree?”

Rodney looked at John imploringly, the paper bag crinkling as he breathed into it.

“I’m not leaving him here with you.”

“No need. One of my men will accompany you, make sure you stay on task.”

Another finger snap and one of the minions stepped forward. He was big and muscled, his long dreadlocks pulled back with a leather thong. His goatee was neatly trimmed and he was wearing an expensive-looking blue suit. Great. No way John could get the drop on that guy.

Oscar made a show of checking his watch. “I’d get a move on if I were you. Time’s wasting.”

John grabbed hold of Rodney’s arm and dragged him out the door. There was only one place to start.

*o*o*o*

They took the subway, the big guy sitting between Rodney and John and making any attempt at conversation impossible. John tried to think through every probability: the most likely places they could give Oscar’s minion the slip, and which of his friends might have the money they owed him.

“Your place,” the minion said. “You have money here?”

“Some,” John said. He didn’t like the way the guy stood so close once they reached the station. He took up too much space and it made John feel claustrophobic. 

They took the stairs because the elevator was broken – again – and Rodney grumbled quietly about it as he always did. The hallway was dimly lit, the lights flickered sporadically, and the threadbare carpet stank of mildew.

“Should’ve used that money to get a better place,” the minion said.

“Better places cost too much.” John fished his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door.

His apartment was sparsely decorated but it was squeaky clean and smelled like Febreeze. Rodney wandered around, picking things up and putting them back down again.

"You should've told me you owed money to a loan shark," he said. "That seems like important information considering our current circumstances."

"It didn't seem important."

Rodney turned and gave him an incredulous look. "Seems pretty fucking important _now_."

John winced. He went into his bedroom, the bed still mussed up from the sex he and Rodney'd had just four hours ago. It was ironic, really. The whole point of just being fuck-buddies was to keep things from getting complicated. John didn't know what he'd done in a past life to generate so much bad karma but he was ready for something to finally go his way.

Conscious of Oscar's minion's eyes on him, John knelt down and pulled the outlet next to the bed out of the wall. It was a false face, hiding a little cubby; a poor man's safe. Inside was John's life savings, about five grand give or take a couple hundred, rolled up neatly and secured with a rubber band. He tossed it to the minion.

"This isn't all of it," the minion said. He rolled the rubber band off and thumbed quickly through the bills. "You're short ten-thousand, eight hundred and ten dollars."

"You don't have anything good to sell!" Rodney called from the living room. "What the hell did you spend all that money on? You don’t even have a flat screen TV!"

"Gambling?" the minion guessed.

"No," John replied shortly. "I have some leads we can follow up."

"Leads?" Rodney poked his head into the bedroom. "You have leads? I'm a dead man."

"Oscar won't kill you," the minion said. "You might lose a couple of fingers, though."

Rodney tucked his hands into his armpits, eyes wide.

"Don't panic, McKay." John clapped him on the shoulder and didn't dare do more while they had company. "I'll get the money."

"That's easy for you to say. I'm the one who'll never play piano again."

"You play piano?"

The minion shook his head, his expression amused. "You don't really know each other very well, do you?

"Guess not," John replied regretfully.

*o*o*o*

"So you guys just fuck?" the minion asked. They were back on the subway, hopefully heading toward a source of additional funds. "You spend a lot of time together, especially on weekends."

"You followed us?" Rodney glowered. "That's an invasion of privacy!"

"We don't just fuck," John said.

"Yeah. Sometimes we eat." 

John was surprised by Rodney's sour tone. They'd agreed right from the beginning to keep things casual, in part because John knew he wasn't great at sticking with things. Plus he didn't have much to offer a partner in an actual relationship, not with the shit show that was his life. Sex, though, that was easy. And sex with Rodney was amazing.

“We’re keeping it simple,” John insisted.

“Have you considered therapy?” the minion asked. He was looking at John. “It can help you work out some issues.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

*o*o*o*

“Cam? It’s John.”

“Just a sec!” Cam called through the door. There was the sound of chains being undone and locks being turned, and then the door swung open. 

“Hey. Sorry to be dropping by so late.” Actually, he hated to be dropping by at all. The last thing he wanted was to burden Cam with his problems.

“Who’s this?” Rodney asked, pushing inside the apartment. He sounded suspicious.

John sighed. “This is Cam, he’s a buddy from way back. Cam, this is Rodney.”

Cam held his hand out. “Nice to meet you.”

After a long moment Rodney shook his hand. “Veteran?” 

“Chair give it away?” Cam rolled his wheelchair back and forth. Eddie, his service dog, sat next to him, ears pricked forward.

Rodney flushed. “I didn’t mean –”

“It’s okay. And who’s your very tall friend?”

The minion had come with them, naturally, and he was now filling the doorway. “Ronon. I’m a mutual acquaintance. That’s a great looking dog.”

Cam scratched Eddie behind the ears, making his tongue loll. “He’s my best bud. Couldn’t get along without him.”

“May I?” Ronon asked, and when Cam nodded he got down on his knees so he could pet Eddie. “Are you a good boy? Yes you are!”

There was nothing quite so alarming at a muscle-bound leg breaker talking baby talk to a dog.

“Can I have a word?” John nodded his head toward the kitchen, and then followed Cam there.

“This isn’t a social call,” Cam said in a low voice once they were away from the others. “Who’s the big guy really?”

“I owe some money,” John said, and the shame of it burned him from the inside out. “If I don’t pay it back tonight, Rodney’s going to be in trouble. I hate to have to ask…”

Cam nodded. “You need the money back you loaned me. I don’t have all of it.”

“Anything you have.”

Cam reached up and squeezed his arm. “After everything you’ve done for me, I only wish I could do more.”

He wheeled out of the kitchen and whistled for Eddie. The man and the dog both disappeared down the hall into the bedroom, leaving John alone with Ronon and Rodney again.

“Great dog,” Ronon said.

“Why are guys like you always such pet lovers?” Rodney wondered aloud. “It’s kind of creepy.”

“Guys like me?”

“You know. Enforcers. Criminals. Guys who routinely punch other guys in the face.”

Ronon raised an eyebrow, the one with the scar slashed across it, but didn’t answer Rodney’s question.

Cam came back, and pressed a handful of bills into John’s hand. “If you need me, call.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

He didn’t give the money to Ronon until they were back outside.

*o*o*o*

“So why did that guy owe you money?” Rodney asked when they were back on the subway.

“I helped him out with something he needed.”

“What? Like drugs?”

Ronon gave John a speculative look. “No. The dog.”

“You bought him a dog?” Rodney sounded incredulous. “They’re free from the animal shelter!”

“It’s a service dog,” Ronon said. “They can cost a lot, because usually they’re bred specifically for that. He didn’t get any assistance from the VA?”

John didn’t bother asking how a minion knew so much about service dogs. Ronon kept defying the stereotype. 

“No. He did some fundraising, locally and online, but it wasn’t enough. I helped him cover the rest.”

Rodney leaned around Ronon. “You borrowed money from a notorious loan shark to help buy a service dog? Are you insane?”

“That was a nice thing to do,” Ronon said.

“Of course _you_ think so, you Neanderthal. It’s not your fingers on the line here.”

Only Rodney could make John feel selfish for doing something selfless.

*o*o*o*

John and Rodney both worked for the same company, John as a low-level accountant and Rodney in entry-level R&D. Neither of them was paid very well but the health benefits were good and there was always a chance for advancement. Except John hated his job and wasn’t interested in climbing the corporate ladder, and Rodney rubbed everyone the wrong way.

John thought Rodney could be doing so much more, maybe with another company. He was crazy brilliant – he had actual paperwork to back up his claim of being a genius – but his people skills were almost non-existent. No-one wanted him on their team, and he kept getting passed over for the big projects.

He didn’t want Rodney to give up what little money he’d saved, not on top of what he was already facing because of John.

“I’m in this just as much as you,” Rodney protested. He hunched over the ATM keypad as he typed in his PIN number. “And unlike some people I keep my money in the bank.”

The ATM _bleeped_ as Rodney made his selections on the touch screen, and then there was a _whirr_ as his money was shuffled into the cash dispenser.

“Here.” Rodney thrust it at Ronon. “Nine hundred and sixty dollars. I left myself rent money, on the off chance I’m alive to pay it next week. But this is everything else.”

Ronon counted it and added it to the roll of bills in his pocket. “Eighty-one hundred left to go.”

“Eighty-one hundred and thirty,” Rodney clarified.

“Don’t help,” John said.

“What’s next?” Ronon asked.

“Yeah,” Rodney echoed. “What’s next? Please tell me there’re more people who owe you money.”

“Couple.”

“Let’s walk,” Ronon said. “I don’t like the subway.”

“Walk? You don’t even know how far it is!” Rodney crumpled up his ATM receipt and tossed it in the trash. “Besides, I need to eat something. I have hypoglycemia.”

“We’ll get you something on the way,” John promised. 

He reached out for Rodney’s hand, unsure his touch would even be welcome at this point, but Rodney latched onto him like a lifeline, fingers curled tight. John had a momentary, painfully vivid image of trying to hold Rodney’s hand and Rodney only having bloody stumps for fingers. John let out a shaky breath. He’d make things right. Somehow.

*o*o*o*

They hit up a taco truck and Ronon paid, since he had all their money. John sincerely hoped Rodney was feeling fortified for the next stop on the Where’s My Money tour. He knew the chances of Rodney wanting anything to do with him once things were resolved with Oscar were slim to none, and John was dismayed to realize how utterly bereft that made him feel.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Rodney said. 

Trixie’s was in full swing, and the place was packed. On stage a girl swung artfully around a pole, wearing only a bright pink thong, a smile and six inch heels. The dance music that accompanied her performance thumped out of huge speakers; John could feel the bass vibrating across his skin.

“Classy,” Ronon remarked.

John wound his way to the bar, and waited to catch the bartender’s eye. “Mack. Is Lindsey working tonight?”

He had to yell to be heard over the music.

“She’s on next,” Mack shouted back. 

John gave him a thumbs up. He turned around to look for Rodney, and saw that he and Ronon had procured a table next to the stage. Forcefully, judging by the scowling guy with a hand clapped over his eye who was heading for the door. By the time John made his way over there Ronon had also secured three bottles of beer.

“I appreciate a good pair of breasts,” Ronon yelled into John’s ear.

“Who doesn’t?” he yelled back. Ronon gave him a look and John shrugged. Just because he was gay didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate a woman’s curves. It just meant he didn’t want to get up close and personal with them.

Rodney sat across the table from John and he was chugging his beer with a scowl that either had to do with the Budweiser or the fact that he was drinking it in a strip club. Possibly both, even though John knew for a fact that Rodney was bi and had a greater appreciation for breasts than he did.

Pink Thong finished up and left the stage with her scrap of underwear stuffed with one dollar bills. The lights dimmed and the music transitioned to something with less of a pounding beat, and then Lindsey came out.

“Wow,” Rodney’s lips said, even though John couldn’t hear the actual word.

Lindsey was wearing a blue lacy negligee and matching stilettos, and she had a fall of curly, pink cotton-candy colored hair that contrasted with her dark skin. John knew for a fact she spent a lot of hours at the gym each week to keep herself in dancing shape. She moved as if she were boneless, undulating and writhing like a snake as she wrapped herself around the pole, holding herself up just with strength of her thighs.

When she caught sight of John she winked and grinned before ripping off the negligee to reveal a matching, ruffled pair of panties and two very small rhinestone pasties; Lindsey never went full nude.

Ronon slipped Lindsey a fifty dollar bill before her performance was over, and she pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his cheek, leaving behind shiny red lip prints.

“You have eclectic friends,” he remarked as John led him and Rodney backstage. Security let him through and Lindsey was waiting for him outside the changing room, wearing a short silk robe.

“John! What a surprise!” She wrapped him in a hug. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“As always.”

“Best pole dancing I’ve seen,” Ronon said.

“Who’s your friend, John? Besides a big tipper?”

John made the introductions. Rodney’s eyes were wide as barely-dressed women passed by, some of them brushing against him in the process.

“Lindsey, I hate to ask but do you have that money you owe me? It’s kind of an emergency.”

All of the sultry flirtation drained out of Lindsey’s face and she narrowed her eyes at Ronon. “Enforcer?”

Ronon shrugged. 

In a flash Lindsey slipped off one of her shoes and was holding it heel-out at him. “I don’t take kindly to anyone threatening my friends.”

“How is this my life?” Rodney moaned. “Can you please not antagonize the Hulk?”

Ronon merely looked amused. “I’m just collecting money.”

“It’s okay, Lindsey. Really.”

Lindsey looked at John like he was crazy, but she lowered the stiletto. “Wait here.” She slipped into the changing room.

“So what did you loan her money for?” Rodney asked. “Boob job? Stripper lessons?”

“Down payment on private school for her son,” John replied.

“Who _are_ you?” Rodney rolled his eyes and walked away, grumbling to himself.

“Single mom?” Ronon asked.

“Yeah. She works hard. This isn’t her only job. And Darius is a good kid, but he’s got some developmental issues. He wasn’t doing well in public school.”

“How do you even find these people?” Rodney asked, gesticulating wildly as he came back up the hall. “Did you take out an ad or something?”

John sighed. “I served with her brother. Promised I’d keep an eye on her.”

“Who’s keeping an eye on you?” Rodney muttered.

Lindsey returned with a fistful of money, which she thrust at Ronon. “This is everything I have, plus some of the other girls threw in their tips. I find out you laid a hand on John, you’re gonna wake up with a stiletto in your eye.”

“Noted,” Ronon said solemnly.

“And here’s your blood money. I don’t want it.” Lindsey balled up the fifty dollar bill Ronon had given her and threw it at his head.

“Thanks, Lindsey.” John gave her another hug. “I mean it.”

“You call me if you need help,” she whispered in his ear. 

He nodded, wishing he hadn’t needed to take her money.

“Great,” Rodney said. “Let’s go.”

*o*o*o*

“So how much is left?” Rodney asked once they were out of the strip club.

The wind was picking up, carrying the scent of rain along with it. John checked his watch. It was edging past midnight, and he was acutely aware of every passing minute. Five more hours, give or take, to come up with the rest of the money. Or else find some way to ditch Ronon and get Rodney to safety.

“Still need seven thousand, one hundred and twenty-seven dollars,” Ronon replied. He counted ridiculously fast.

“Gimme all your money!”

John looked up and into the business end of a handgun. He froze in place and his former military training kicked in as he evaluated the twitchy guy holding the gun, the gun itself, and any innocent bystanders on the sidewalk that might catch a stray bullet.

“Un-fucking-believable,” Rodney said, shaking his head. “Are you high? Do you see this giant man standing in front of you? He probably eats bullets.”

“Shut up, Rodney,” John said out of the side of his mouth.

“Gimme the money, asshole!”

John wondered if Ronon was carrying . He hadn’t seen anything, but the guy could have an ankle holster or something. Ronon stood there, money in hand, and stared back at the would-be mugger.

“You’re making a bad choice,” he said very calmly.

“Shut the fuck up and gimme the –”

Before John could act, Rodney lashed out and snatched the gun from the mugger’s hand. And just like that the tables had turned and the mugger was staring at the wrong end of his own weapon, eyes wide.

“You can’t do that!”

“Get lost, before I pop a cap in your ass,” Rodney snarled. “I have enough people who want to kill me today.”

The guy turned and ran, shouting obscenities back at them as he went. Ronon quickly took the gun from Rodney, who’d gone pale and shaky.

“Nice job, McKay.”

“Rodney, are you out of your mind? He could’ve shot you!” John’s heart was racing. That could’ve gone so wrong. Rodney was lucky, he was so lucky, he…he was losing his lunch in the gutter. “Hey. It’s okay, buddy.”

“It’s not fucking okay, John!” Rodney was bent over, hands on his knees, tremors visibly running through his body. “Nothing about tonight is okay!”

Rodney’s eyes were bright and John was horrified to realize that the man was near tears. Jesus. How had everything gone so wrong? He was trying too hard, he knew that, trying to help people the way he hadn’t been able to help Holland. Trying to make amends even after all this time, for something he hadn’t been able to control. And now he was going to lose the one good thing in his life.

Rodney threw up again and again until he was reduced to dry heaves. John rubbed his back, feeling guilty and helpless, and gratefully accepted the bottle of water Ronon handed to him. He must’ve gone up the street to the all-night bodega when John wasn’t paying attention. 

“Here.” John handed the bottle to Rodney, who used the water to rinse his mouth.

“Thanks,” Rodney replied a little hoarsely. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t know if I said it, but I am.” John kept rubbing circles between Rodney’s shoulder blades. 

“I don’t even know who you are.” Rodney moved away from the gutter, away from John, and sat down on the sidewalk with his back against the brick wall of the adult bookstore next to Trixie’s. “I’ve been sleeping with a complete stranger, and it says a lot that I know every part of your body but nothing about _you_.”

John ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry about that, too. I’m sorry about everything, okay? My life is so messed up and I was trying to keep you out of it. You deserve better than me.”

“Oh, so now you’re a martyr? Spare me, John. This has nothing to do with protecting me. You’re afraid to get too close, and that has everything to do with protecting yourself. You’re not the hero here.”

“I’m not trying to be the hero!” John snapped. “I don’t want to be anything but the guy that can keep you safe, but instead I’m the asshole who screwed you over!”

“And I’m the asshole who fell in love with you!” Rodney shouted back. 

He and John stared at each other for a long, fraught moment, and then Rodney dropped his head on his knees with a groan.

John didn’t know what to say. Love was the last thing he’d wanted. He hadn’t gone looking for it, hadn’t deluded himself into thinking he deserved it. And if he was half the man Rodney was he’d admit, out loud, that Rodney was more than just a booty call for him. Had been, almost right from the start, because he may not have been looking but John had needed someone.

Ronon clapped his hand on John’s shoulder, startling him. “It’s good to talk your feelings out,” he said. 

“I hate you,” Rodney mumbled into his knees.

*o*o*o*

“You loaned money to someone who runs a pawn shop? That seems redundant.”

“I didn’t loan anyone anything here,” John said. He scrubbed his hand over his face, exhausted. “I’m selling something.”

Rodney snorted. “I’ve seen your apartment. What could you possibly own that’s worth seven grand?”

John ignored that and hit the bell on the desk. An old guy came shuffling out of the back, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. 

“Yeah? Whaddya want?”

After a moment’s hesitation, John unclasped his watch and slid it off his wrist. He set it carefully on the counter. “How much?”

The old guy picked it up, turned it over a few times, and held it up to his face for a closer look. “Nice quality.”

“How much?” John repeated.

“Two grand.”

“Like hell. That’s a fifty-thousand dollar platinum Rolex.”

“You own a Rolex?” Rodney snatched it out of the old guy’s hands. “How the hell do you have a Rolex? Fifty thousand dollars and you just wear it around?”

The old guy snatched it back. “The engraving lessens the value.”

_So proud, John. Love Dad_. That’s what it said on the back. John’s father had given it to him when he graduated high school at the top of his class. That was before John changed his major and decided to get his degree from Stanford. Before his dad caught him kissing Billy Endwell out behind the stables. Before John joined the Air Force instead of Sheppard International the way he’d been groomed to.

“I want at least ten grand for it,” John said, the words hard to get out around the lump in his throat. “You know you can get at least three times that, even with the engraving.”

The old guy made a non-committal noise and pulled a loupe out of his pocket. He gave the watch a thorough examination.

“Five.”

“Seven.”

“Five-five and not a penny more. You want more than that, sell it on eBay.”

John was running out of time and he knew it, so he let the watch go for fifty-five hundred dollars. He hadn’t talked to his father in more than ten years but it still hurt, leaving that last gift behind. His only connection to a man who’d once loved him and now didn’t give a shit, and he’d probably been an idiot keeping it all this time anyway.

He handed the money to Ronon and walked out of the pawn shop before he did something completely humiliating, like crying over a man he’d sworn never to give the time of day to. No pun intended.

“John? You okay?” Rodney asked, following him.

“Never better.”

When Rodney reached out and tentatively twined their fingers together, John had to turn away and rub at his eyes with the heel of his other hand.

*o*o*o*

They ended up in an all-night diner down on Traction Avenue because Rodney needed coffee and food, John needed time to regroup, and they all needed to get in out of the rain. The one other person he’d helped out was inaccessible to him; he knew where Amir worked but not where he and his family lived, and even with the dire circumstances he couldn’t roust the man in the middle of the night.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Rodney said. “If she brings my coffee while I’m gone, tell her to leave the pot.”

John turned to watch him go, saw the way his broad shoulders were slumped in defeat. And it made him angry.

“Listen to me.” He reached across the table and poked Ronon in the shoulder, which was roughly the same as poking a concrete slab. “Rodney’s out. Oscar wanted his money and you have almost all of it. We can make some other deal for the rest, but Rodney’s off the table.”

“It’s a little late for negotiations,” Ronon replied.

“I don’t give a fuck,” John hissed. He leaned forward on his elbows. “Oscar wants me, he can have me. I don’t care what he does. Take some fingers or take my whole fucking hand. But from here on out he deals with me and only me.”

Ronon leaned in as well, and captured John’s wrist in his big hand. He squeezed until John could swear his bones creaked, though he was careful not to let any discomfort show on his face.

“You can’t fight me and win, John.”

“Try me.”

“Is he really worth it? It’s not like you’re in love with him or anything. He’s just an easy lay, right?”

John saw red, and acted before he could think. His free hand balled up into a fist and he swung, catching Ronon in the side of the head and knocking over two of the empty coffee cups on the table with a clatter. Ronon shook his head and his grip lessened enough that John could wrench his arm free – that was going to bruise – and the next thing he knew he was standing next to the booth, his whole body quivering with rage.

“Rodney McKay is the only good thing in my shitty life and if you talk about him like that again I’ll break your fucking neck!”

The waitress arrived with the pot of coffee and proceeded to right the cups and pour as if nothing unusual was happening. Then again, at one in the morning on Traction Avenue it was probably business as usual. The drag queens in the booth by the door were all staring at him, though.

“You need some help, honey?” one of them called out. “He disrespecting your man?”

“I got this, thanks.”

“Just give a shout if we can be of any assistance.”

“John?”

Rodney was standing behind John, his eyes wide and his face flushed. 

“Rodney. Go home.”

“What? No. I can’t just…what?”

John pulled him in, pressed a rough kiss to his lips. “Go home. Forget you ever met me.”

“But…Oscar.”

“Let me worry about Oscar.”

Rodney searched his face, looking for what John didn’t know, and then he turned a narrow-eyed look on Ronon. “What’s going on?”

“Your man was defending your honor, sweetie,” one of the other drag queens said helpfully.

“Sit down. Both of you.” Ronon seemed mostly unfazed by the blow to the head he’d received.

“No. He leaves.”

Rodney shook his head. “Oscar will only hurt me, John. But if you renege he might kill you. No. We’re in this together.”

John was pretty sure his head was going to explode. There was a sharp pain behind his right eye and if Rodney didn’t leave John might just kill him himself. He couldn’t save Holland but it wasn’t too late for McKay. If he could get to the gun, the one from the mugger, maybe he could –

“Okay, you need to sit down.” 

Rodney pushed John back into the booth and John realized he was having a panic attack. The paper bag was produced with a flourish and Rodney was right, it did smell like month-old liverwurst. And spicy brown mustard.

“Did you mean it?” Rodney murmured close to John’s ear. “About me being the only good thing?”

John closed his eyes. Of course Rodney had overheard that part. It was a good thing he didn’t gamble because he had shit luck. 

He moved the bag away from his mouth. “Yeah.”

“Now see?” Ronon slapped his hand on the table and John’s eyes popped open. “Isn’t it better to have everything out on the table?”

“There’s something really wrong with you,” Rodney replied.

The waitress returned with plates of food for Ronon and Rodney; John had no appetite. Rodney immediately plucked a breakfast sausage off his plate and started eating it, but he kept one hand on the back of John’s neck.

“I think we’ve done good work here tonight,” Ronon said. “And that deserves a reward.”

He pulled the roll of cash – thirteen thousand, three hundred and seventy-three dollars – out of his pocket and set it in the middle of the table along with the Rolex John thought he’d pawned.

“I’m confused,” Rodney said. “Is this some kind of test?”

John nodded his head in agreement. Had he somehow won Ronon over with his foolhardy display of manly bravado?

“Most people go to a money lender because they need cash for gambling or drugs or payoffs. Not you, John. You used the money to help others. Pretty damn selfless.”

Rodney immediately latched on to that lifeline. “Yes! He’s a good guy, better than even I suspected. He’s trying his best and he shouldn’t be punished for that. I shouldn’t be punished either. Just putting that out there.”

“Consider your debt paid in full,” Ronon said. He cut a big slice out of his waffle and shoved it into his mouth. Maple syrup dripped into his facial hair.

“Just like that?” John was understandably suspicious. Men like Oscar didn’t just change their minds and let fifteen grand walk away. “What about Oscar?”

“Oscar works for me.”

Rodney dropped the sausage back on his plate. “Oh, god. I think I just had a stroke.”

“If you did, so did I,” John said. “What do you mean, Oscar works for you?”

Ronon shrugged. “He’s good at getting people motivated. He’s the kind of guy they expect to be a loan shark. But I’m actually more interested in investing than chasing people around and breaking their legs.”

“Investing?” Rodney asked.

“And tonight I’m gonna invest in the two of you. Take the money. You earned it. And you should keep the watch, John. It obviously means a lot to you.”

Rodney reached for the money and then snatched his hand back as if it had been burned. “Is this a trick?”

Ronon swallowed another huge bite of waffle. “Nope. But it comes with conditions.”

“Oh, right. Here it is. We have to work for you, or something. Offer up alibis after you have someone dumped in the river?”

“Don’t antagonize the man who wants to give us money and send us on our way,” John advised Rodney.

“Only one stipulation: no more taking out loans unless they’re from a reputable bank. The other guys in the trade aren’t as nice as me.” Ronon mopped at his mouth with a handful of little paper napkins from the dispenser on the table. “You two could have something really good going, but you have to let it happen. Be honest with each other. And get out of your dead-end jobs.”

He reached back in his pocket and pulled out a credit card. He tossed it next to the money and the watch. 

“What’s that?” John asked.

“Start-up capital. I’m no science whiz, but I have it on good authority that Dr. McKay is some kind of genius. Open your own company.”

“Just like that?” Rodney picked up the credit card, which was completely black.

“You start the company, I’ll invest in it, and you’ll make me a fortune. Everyone wins.”

Ronon polished off the rest of his food while Rodney and John stared at each other. John felt like he was being punked. After all the running around, all the guilt and humiliation and fucking _feelings_ , could he really trust that this was it? He could see that Rodney wanted to believe Ronon was Santa come early, and for Rodney’s sake he desperately wanted it to be true.

“Good luck.” Ronon clapped each of them on the shoulder and then he was headed for the door. He only stopped for a brief word with the drag queens before he disappeared out into the night.

*o*o*o*

The first glow of daybreak was lightening the clouds when John walked Rodney to his door. He’d insisted on seeing him home. Needed to make sure this wasn’t some sort of elaborate hoax. So far it didn’t seem to be.

“Well, as dates go, this is one I won’t soon forget.” Rodney unlocked his front door and dashed inside to deactivate the alarm. John stayed in the hall.

“Sorry,” he said. “For everything.”

“I don’t accept your apology,” Rodney replied. He stood on the other side of the doorway, arms crossed. “Unless it includes your stupidity for letting me think you only wanted me for my ass.”

John huffed out a surprised laugh. “Well, your ass _is_ a work of art.”

“I know it is.”

John struggled to think of something to say, something profound and meaningful. A way to say goodbye, because he was sure that when he walked away it would be for the last time. He’d done what he’d set out to do: Rodney was safe. He couldn’t ask for any more, didn’t dare tempt the universe that way.

The universe had other plans.

“We both got a second chance,” Rodney said. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not wasting mine.”

“You really gonna start your own company?”

“Why not? Then I can be in charge of the projects. I have so many ideas, John. Universe-changing innovations.”

John smiled, fond and sad. “I know you do. You’re the smartest guy I know.”

Rodney held out his hand. “Smart enough to know I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

John wanted that, he wanted that so bad it hurt. “Rodney, I –”

“We can hash out the details in the morning. Tonight can’t we just have this? Regardless of where it goes?”

After a long moment John took what Rodney was offering, and let himself get pulled inside the apartment. He wrapped himself around Rodney, hanging on like he might drift away if he didn’t. 

“You’re not the only asshole who fell in love,” John whispered in his ear.

“I know,” Rodney said, his arms tightening around John. “So stop looking like you need to let me down gently. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

John let out a laugh that might have turned into something more like a sob. “Good.”

**Epilogue**

“McKay and Sheppard got their first big contract,” Ronon said. He tossed the report on his desk, but the man sitting on the other side didn’t pick it up. “Is it going the way you wanted?”

"It is. The momentum should carry them forward without any further intervention on your part.”

As if Ronon ever had a choice. The man on the other side of the desk, who sometimes liked to be called Melville but more often just M – though Ronon knew full well that wasn’t his real name – had approached him about fifteen years ago. Offered Ronon a business opportunity he’d been unable to turn down. 

“You seem pretty sure of yourself,” Ronon said.

“I’ve seen how it all plays out,” M replied. “It had to be this way. John won’t lift a finger to save himself but he’ll go to the ends of the universe for Rodney. Some things never change.”

As always, Ronon wondered how his benefactor knew so much about two men he insisted he’d never met. Hell, fifteen years ago Sheppard and McKay were complete strangers to each other; Sheppard hadn’t even been in the country. It was just one of countless examples of M knowing things he shouldn’t, but since that often resulted in money in Ronon’s pockets it was foolish to find fault with it.

“You’ve done your part, Ronon. Now you’re free to do whatever you like with the rest of your life.” M shifted in his seat. “Travel the world, start a family.”

“And what’ll you be doing?”

M shrugged. “I’m needed elsewhere.”

Ronon didn’t know how he felt about that. M had been in his life for a long time, advising behind the scenes and putting things into place that only made sense months or years down the line. On the other hand, whenever he was around it was like Ronon had developed facial blindness but only for one specific person. If asked, he’d be unable to give a description of M beyond general height and weight. No matter how hard he focused, he couldn’t seem to make out the man’s facial features at all. It was unnerving, even after so many years.

M stood up and offered his hand across the desk. Ronon stood as well and shook it, feeling the finality of the gesture. He was absolutely certain it was the last time he and M would be in the same city. He couldn’t help wondering what new Machiavellian schemes the man had up his sleeve.

“It’s been a pleasure.”

“Good luck,” Ronon said.

“I don’t need luck,” M replied. “I’m a genius.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **AN:** Believe it or not, this fic was inspired by the movie _Maverick_ , with Mel Gibson and James Garner. Specifically, the way Bret was hitting up everyone who owed him money and constantly getting shafted in the process. Somehow that hilarious premise turned into this more serious scenario.
> 
> It wasn’t until I was contemplating the epilogue that this became part of the Alternate Earths series. That was a twist even I didn’t see coming! LOL!
> 
> Special thanks to nagi_schwarz for the hand-holding and betaing. All the lurves for you!


End file.
